


Illusory

by pale_blue11



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-09 22:44:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4367099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pale_blue11/pseuds/pale_blue11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is an unmarked gravestone in the Risembool Cemetery, surrounded by undisturbed grass. It appeared a week after their failed transmutation, and still no name has been carved on its surface. Edward and his armoured brother found it strangely intriguing. They could sit before it for hours. Yet they could never see the inscription: Alphonse Elric 1900-1910.</p><p>Based off Exist (one-shot).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introductions

_**ILLUSORY** _

_**Chapter One • Introductions** _

 

"You broke her!" Winry screamed in despair and outrage, tears already threatening to roll down her young cheeks. "You broke her!"

Edward grunted and tugged at the doll caught in his hand. "It's not my fault!" he argued, raising his voice to be heard over his friend's sobbing. "It got caught in my automail! If anything, it's  _your_  fault for not tightening the bolts enough!"

"My automail is perfect," the youngest automail engineer retorted loud enough to rattle the windows. Her face was turning a worrisome crimson that clashed horribly with her cheery pink dress. "You're just an  _idiot_!"

Finally, the doll's woollen hair escaped from the junction of his thumb and metal palm. "There!" Ed thrust the toy into Winry's lap and stood up in a hurry, in case she was carrying anything hard and painful. "Your  _stupid_ doll's fine!"

"No, it's not!" Winry wailed, threading the wool through her fingers as if she could weave the strands back into obedience. "Her hair's ruined! I  _hate_  you, Edward!"

Edward, in a great display of twelve-year-old maturity, stuck out his tongue and blew a raspberry before fleeing the crime scene. His gait was a bit uneven, and his bare feet made contrasting  _thuds_  and  _clicks_  on the hardwood of the Rockbell's home—but that was to be expected. Granny Pinako had been impressed at his ability to run—or shamble, as it was—merely ten months after his surgery. It had filled him with warmth, and Alphonse had let out a quiet sigh of relief.

In just two months, the deadline would appear, and Edward wouldn't have to withstand Winry's irrational attacks any longer. They were unjustified, and always painful.

He huffed as he threw open the front door and quickly limped past Pinako, up to her elbows in mud and weeds. He was followed, as always, by his clanking brother, who answered Granny's shocked questions with a politeness that Ed just  _couldn't_  emulate. Nevertheless, she continued to ask where he was going until he was already well down the road.

In just  _two months_ —just  _two_ —Edward Elric would leave the small town of Risembool for the tall buildings and exciting bustle of Central. The Lieutenant Colonel had promised him funds, and in exchange, Ed would promise him loyalty. But the real promise had been entrusted to Al:

Ed would get his brother's body back.

**XxX**

Pinako Rockbell watched her honorary grandson stumble down the road on a leg that perhaps needed more time to recover, and her mouth turned downwards in a frown. She knew, from that reaction, Winry was inside crying over yet another mishap. How that boy managed to create so much trouble was beyond her. It was both admirable and insufferable.

"Granny…" Winry sniffled from the doorway. Pinako met her granddaughter's watery gaze and resigned herself to the fact that she wouldn't be doing any more gardening that day. The girl raised the evidence in her hands and her lower lip trembled. "He did it again."

Pinako nodded and slowly clambered to her feet, using the house to aid her. Both knees announced her age with loud cracks. "Wait for me in the lounge, Winry. I need to wash my hands."

Winry gave one last sniff, then did as instructed. Sighing, the eldest Rockbell made her way over to the outside tap and let it wash away the remains of her work. It wasn't enough to banish the grease stains on her palms and beneath her nails, however. She had seen the tattered hair clutched in Winry's small fists, and therefore had a strong idea as to what had made Edward run. After all, it wasn't the first time such a thing had happened. It was beginning to become monotonous.

"You idiot boy," she muttered humourlessly, and shut off the tap. "What's she gonna tell me today?"

Winry was waiting on the couch, just as her granny had specified. Her feet were still. Her fingers were fidgeting. Her expression was miserable. Edward's condition affected her much more than anyone else.

Beautiful blue eyes glanced up as Pinako took the seat beside her and rubbed her shoulder in a comforting manner. She would have offered a smile, but knew that to be useless. When it came to this, nothing could raise Winry's spirits except Winry.

"What happened this time?" Pinako asked gently, continuing to rub her granddaughter's shaking back.

"H-he had Lucy," Winry hiccupped and scrubbed at her blotchy face. "We were playing dolls. They were ha-having a tea party, and h-he… E-Ed…"

"He unravelled Lucy's hair?" Pinako urged as Winry's gaze fell to the floor and she nodded.

"He said i-it was caught in his automail, Granny. He doesn't  _ha-have_  an automail hand!" With that, the girl dropped Lucy and wound tight arms around her granny's waist. "B-but he was—was so… so  _convinced_  th-that her hair was caught on a bolt. H-he," she gasped for breath, "was just pulling it apart. I saw! I really saw, Granny!"

As Winry's hiccups evolved into sobs, Pinako tried to calm her with gentle noises and kind words. They came automatically now; she'd been forced to do this so often it had become routine. A sympathetic ear worked wonders for her young charge, even if it offered no advice. Perhaps Winry wasn't after advice—perhaps she only wanted someone to listen and murmur empathetically as she unburdened herself of her worries.

"Granny?" The girl lifted her tearful eyes and filled them with so much distress it tugged at Pinako's conscience. How could she have let the situation spiral so far out of control? She should have  _done something_  the night she had found Edward lying—half dead—in their basement. Alone. "Granny? How do we help him? He's sick, isn't he?"

Pinako's expression tightened. 'Sick' was such a versatile word. But yes, Edward was sick. And so she nodded. "I'm afraid he is, sweetheart."

"But w-we can fix it."

"Of course we can," Pinako lied, holding Winry tightly so the girl wouldn't see the doubt on her lined face. It was so hard to hide a worry when it carved chasms in her skin. "He's already getting better, isn't he? It's just shock, Winry; he'll break out of it."

Winry nodded against her chest. "E-Ed's strong, right, Granny? Will he be normal soon?"

Pinako let out a quiet, soothing chuckle. "Oh, Winry. When has that boy ever been normal?"

Winry replied with a giggle, her tears banished by a series of untruths. Pinako so wished she was able to dispel her own fears with such ease. But no—there they remained, at the forefront of her mind.

"Would you like to start dinner?" the old woman asked, stroking Winry's arm in encouragement, and Winry agreed in a soft mumble. "What will you make?"

"Stew," the girl said as she jumped from the couch and headed towards the kitchen. "So you tell Ed that I'm making his favourite, and that he'd better come home."

Pinako smiled, but then her granddaughter paused.

"And," she turned back to fix Pinako with a displeased expression, "tell him he still needs to fix Lucy's hair." Huffing, she disappeared in a flash of blonde and pink.

**XxX**

Edward only had one hiding place. Oh, there was the old Elric household, standing dark and dusty at the top of the hill. There was the riverbank that Alphonse once favoured. There were numerous abandoned animal holes and hollow trees in which a young boy could have fit. But Pinako knew to ignore them. Edward only had one hiding place.

And it wasn't very hidden. The crown of his golden head was visible as soon as the cemetery came into view. Among the grey headstones, he stood out like a beacon, though not necessarily one of hope or any form of positivity. Maybe he had been one, once upon a time, before the fairy tale ended. But that was a long time ago. Before his father left, and his mother died. Before he abandoned any hope of a normal childhood, and instead pursued forbidden alchemy. Before he executed that forbidden alchemy, and sacrificed his left leg.

Before he lost his brother.

Pinako had considered herself a rather adequate replacement for the boy's parents—for their mother, at the very least—but even the greatest must struggle through defeat, and she was  _far_  from the greatest. She had allowed her foster sons to run off with two complete strangers, ignorant to the reason behind their desire to learn alchemy. But wasn't it obvious? After all that time, and thought, the paths that led to this present problem were straight and clear. It was only later that the thorns appeared. And so, if anyone ever asked the Rockbell monarch what her worst failure was, she wouldn't say 'The Elric brothers', because that was a complete lie.  _They_  weren't her failures. Her own lack of knowledge was to blame.

"Edward," she said when the ends of her shadow tickled the child's neck. He didn't reply; only his taut shoulders betrayed his awareness of her. "Edward. I want to talk to you."

"I didn't mean to ruin her  _stupid_  doll," Edward muttered petulantly. He then waited a few seconds, and replied, "Yeah, I know."

The second statement caused Pinako's brow to crease in concern, as it wasn't meant for her. It was meant for the hallucination that had followed him ever since the failed transmutation: Alphonse, in the form of a large suit of armour.

Apparently.

"I'm not here to talk about the doll, Edward," Pinako revealed, and if anything, the boy grew more wary.

"Then what?"

For a few moments, Pinako contemplated sitting beside her grandson. But her old bones seemed to  _creak_  at the idea, projecting their displeasure at the idea quite vocally. "I just wanted to talk." To be honest, she was at a loss for words.

Ed grunted and wound his thin arms tighter around his knees. "I don't wanna talk. Not to you."

"What about Winry?"

He shook his head vigorously, sending his golden bangs flying in all directions. "She can't, Al. Just shut it."

"Edward." Oh, to hell with it. Pinako laid the blanket she had brought for her grandson on the ground and carefully lowered herself down. "Can we speak privately, please?"

He looked across to her suspiciously. "Why can't Al stay? He won't interrupt, right, Al." Whatever the hallucination said appeared to appease Ed, as he turned back to Pinako with a wide—if cautious—grin. "See?"

She matched it as well as she was able. Allowing Edward to continue in the manner in which he was—that is, believing that his brother still walked beside him every day—was dangerous, and she knew it. She knew it, but couldn't stop. Because whenever she or Winry or any of the several doctors Ed had met so much as  _alluded_  to the word 'hallucinations', Edward shut down.

It was terrifying, to see that face which held so much trust crumple so quickly into cagey despair. Maybe Edward didn't notice the sorrow he displayed; maybe it was subconscious. It seemed that even if his mind couldn't focus on reality, his instincts were trying their best to warn him regardless.

It was for that reason Pinako couldn't bring herself to utter those simple, damning words. ' _Edward, Alphonse hasn't been here for a long time'. 'Edward, you need to snap out of it.'_

_'_ _Edward, I'm worried about you_ '.

It was cowardly. Selfish. But she couldn't say anything, at the risk of losing  _both_ of the Elric brothers. The youngest to death, and the eldest to hatred. Pinako knew how the mind worked; she wasn't ignorant in the least. Nevertheless, she couldn't lose Edward. Because she was cowardly. And selfish.

"Granny?" the child in her thoughts questioned. "You're not saying anything. Are you okay?"

She wanted to ask him the same. Affixing a sincere smile to her wrinkled lips, Pinako convinced him that she was perfectly alright, then mentioned the stew Winry had bubbling on the stove. By that time, the sun was low enough to graze the horizon and stain the sky a dazzling orange. The first stars were sparkling into existence in the west, and she knew Ed to be hungry. Yet still he shrugged stubbornly and refused to meet her eyes.

"I'll come home later," he said. "Promise."

"Edw—"

"Al can keep me safe!" Ed insisted, suddenly frantic at the notion that he might be forced home for dinner. "Really, he can! And I can run fine all on my own, Granny. My balance is a little off, but I haven't needed the crutch for almost two weeks!"

"Alright, bean," Pinako agreed mirthfully, ignoring his squawk of protest and his insistence that he was  _not short_. "As long as you promise me something."

"I can really stay?" He sounded stunned, and slightly breathless.

"The promise, Edward," Pinako reminded him as she began the arduous task of getting to her feet. "I need you to do something for me, too."

Ed swivelled around to the empty space on the left of his mother's grave, and spoke to it, "Yeah, that's right!" He directed his brilliant grin back to Pinako. "It's just like equivalent exchange, Granny."

"Then you'll agree?"

Ed nodded.

Pinako let out a sigh of relief when she was once more upright. "Then I want you to promise that you'll always come to me when you need help."

"Like if I scratch Winry's automail," he asked, "and she finds out?"

"Anything," she assured him, and watched as a small frown creased his brow.

"That doesn't sound equivalent," he said carefully.

Pinako quirked an eyebrow. "Oh? Then I guess you just have to help  _me_  with the gardening, too."

She left before his groaning complaints became too loud.

**XxX**

"Do you think she's serious, Brother?" Al asked once Granny was a fair way down the road.

"About the gardening?" Ed grumbled, setting his chin in his palm and leaning forward. "Probably. And she knows I  _hate_  gardening! The dirt gets caught in my hand and it's hard to get out." Gently, he flexed the automail in question. "It's stiff for  _days_."

There came a series of loud creaks and screeches as Alphonse sat down, legs crossed in an imitation of his brother. Ed studied him, expression hardening as the armour let out a quiet chuckle.

"Not  _that_ ," Alphonse laughed. "About the help thing."

Ed blew a strong puff of air through his nose, showing exactly what he thought of her offer. "I'd've done that anyway! Winry gets  _way_  too mad about the little things. You know, just last week, she hit me over the head with one of her tools!"

"It was a wrench, brother."

"Whatever it was, it  _hurt_. Do I have a bruise, Al?"

Al shook his head, making no effort to come any closer. "You made me check yesterday, Brother, and there wasn't anything there."

Ed huffed and rubbed at the offended area, a couple of inches above his right eye. "It  _feels_  like a bruise," he muttered bitterly.

"That's because you keep touching it," his brother—always the voice of logic—pointed out, before rapidly changing the subject. "Why did we come here, brother? You know I hate it here."

Edward shrugged, hiding the twinge of guilt he felt upon remembering Al's aversion to the cemetery. "It was the first place I thought of."

"What about Rain River?" Alphonse suggested, almost as if he were nervous.

"Too cold this time of year." As if to accentuate his claim, a shiver racked through his body and he was forced to reach for the blanket that Granny had kindly forgotten. "My automail'll freeze and you'll have to carry me home," he joked. Alphonse had clearly stated, one week after obtaining his new body, that he didn't trust himself to carry Edward any longer. That horrific night—most of which Ed couldn't recall—was the first, and last, time that Al would do such a thing.

Al didn't reply. Ed followed the path of his younger brother's glowing eyes to where they settled on the empty gravestone.

"I hate that thing," Alphonse whispered, the steel in his arms creaking as they tightened their hold.

"Mm," Ed hummed in vague agreement, and reached forward to touch the stone's rough surface. "It's weird that it's still here. Shouldn't someone get rid of it? There's no one buried there."

That was true; the grassed ground was flat. Merely the headstone disturbed the landscape around the unmarked grave, which only increased the boys' suspicion. Ed withdrew his fingers with a shudder and pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders, telling himself that the nausea pooling in his stomach was due to the plummeting temperature. Nothing else.

"Brother…" Al said softly, leaning in as if he were about to tuck a strand of hair behind Ed's ear. He paused at the last moment and moved away. "You're cold. Don't you wanna go back?"

Ed refused the suggestion. "It's barely been twenty minutes, Al. Winry would kill us."

"Wh-what?" Al sputtered. "Why me, too?

" _I_  don't understand how her mind works!" Ed countered defensively, turning his nose up in indignation. "She's a  _girl_."

"But, Brother! You're gonna get sick!"

"I'm staying here," he insisted. "All night."

But it wasn't long before he sat down at the kitchen table, a warm bowl of steaming stew gently soothing his wounded pride. If only it could block out Al's snickers, as well.

**XxX**

It was late that night when the phone rang.

The stars were out in full force, made brighter by the new moon and clear skies. The dishes from dinner were drying on the rack beside the sink, water dripping slowly, steadily. Edward was practically falling asleep where he lay on the lounge, grudgingly thankful that he hadn't stayed out all night, as had been the plan. Winry didn't react as violently as he had come to expect; she merely thrust her doll into his face and demanded that he fix her. A simple clap of the hands had dealt with that.

And so, when a shrill ring split the air, Edward fell straight to the floor in front of the fireplace, blinking in shock at the unplanned displacement. Winry giggled, though the action was tired, and voiced a few teasing insults that Ed didn't have the will to understand. He was tired, too.

That all changed, however, when Pinako seized the telephone and her expression stiffened into one that was all too recognisable.

The military was calling him.

Ed noticed the way his grandmother's lined face seemed to grow more lines, the way the corners of her eyes tightened almost unperceptively. Her gnarled hands tightened on the large handset, the knuckles turning white in her displeasure. He also noticed how her jaw clenched, spine straightened, and chin lifted in a display of defiance that was wasted over the phone. He noticed because he'd seen it all before.

So he held his breath, in the hope that she would forget all of her previous misgivings with the military, and allow him to speak. Just when he was beginning to feel lightheaded, Granny chanced a quick look at him and emphatically narrowed her eyes. Ed was to go to bed—at once, no questions asked. He let out his lungful of air in a loud gasp, earning another of Winry's giggles, and pretended that he didn't understand Pinako's request.

She turned back to the two children and waved them towards the bedrooms, muttering a hard, "I see," into the mouthpiece. Winry stood obediently, her expression one of wary curiosity. But Ed didn't react to her soft insistences that he come, too; he was straining to hear any of the Lt. Colonel's words. All that he could discern was a low voice.

Ed jumped slightly when Granny hurriedly covered the mouthpiece and hissed at him, " _Go_  to  _bed_ , Edward! I'm not saying it again!"

"You didn't say it the first time," he retorted. Winry chose that moment to make her escape, leaving Ed alone. Even Al had decided to abandon his brother.

"I'm serious, Edward," Pinako continued, then she held up the phone. "I'm sorry, I'm going to have to call you back."

Ed's stomach dropped through the floor. No—she couldn't let the Lieutenant hang up before Ed had the chance to  _talk_  to him! This was his future they were talking about! His and Al's! Before his mind caught up, Ed sprang over the back of the couch and snatched the telephone from his grandmother. She reached for him, and he ducked, sliding on the seat of his pants in the direction of the kitchen.

"Edward!"

"Hello?" he said breathlessly, the dark earpiece pressed tightly to the side of his head. "Hello, Lieutenant Colonel? Are you there?"

There were a few beats of silence before the other person replied uncertainly. "Is this Edward?"

Ed's face split in a grin even as he dodged around an armchair. "Yeah, it is. Are you calling about the exam? Because I'm ready now."

"Are you?" the deep voice chuckled. "And what does your grandmother think of that?"

"I don't think I should tell you what she thinks of you."

"Oh, really?" the Lt. Colonel said mirthfully. Ed heard a creak as the man leant back in his chair. It was barely audible, however, above the commotion in the Rockbell home.

Edward let out a strangled cry as strong arms wound around his chest, effectively holding him in place as Pinako wrestled the phone from his grasp. It all happened so fast—he barely had time to choke out a goodbye before it flew too far away. The coiled cord was wound all over the room—on chairs and the couch and even a doorknob, though Ed couldn't remember ever passing by that door. When Pinako released it, the black handset skidded far across the floor, as if to escape.

"Let me  _go_ , you old hag!" Ed yelled, kicking his legs wildly in an effort to make contact with his captor. "I was talking!"

"I will  _not_  let you go until you listen to reason, tiny brat!" Pinako dodged a liberated elbow and strengthened her grip. "Do you want that man to hear your meltdown?  _Do_  you?"

"He wouldn't have to if you'd just  _let me speak to him_!"

" _Do you_?"

"No!" Edward howled and sunk to the ground, his arm held high above his head. No matter what he tried, he couldn't get free. The first pricks of frustrated tears burnt in his eyes. "No, no, no, no,  _no, no_!"

"Then what're you gonna do, Edward?"

Ed looked around frantically, searching for someone who wasn't there. "Al!  _Al_!"

Pinako shook his thin arm, ignoring his panicked gasps for breath. " _What_  are you gonna do, Edward?"

"I'll go to my room!" he wailed, and began to claw at her fingers. "I'll go to my room and stay there 'till you say I can come out! I  _promise_ , Granny! I  _promise_!"

"Alright, then." She dropped him, and watched as he blinked up at her, dazed at the rapid change. "You'll go straight to your room, y'hear, pipsqueak? We'll talk about your punishment tomorrow."

Ed sat there, gaping, for several more seconds before the words pierced his brain. Once they had, he wasted no time in scrambling to his feet and flying down the hallway. But he didn't go straight to his room. He paused at the exact place where deep shadows would hide him from his grandmother's fading sight.

Edward watched as Granny pushed up her glasses to rub at the ridge of her nose, appearing deep in thought. She exhaled slowly and Ed felt a tug of guilt pulling him towards his punishment. It wasn't fair that he put so much pressure on her—but he couldn't help it! Al was the calm half of the Elric brothers; Granny and Winry didn't even notice him over Ed's selfish antics.

As Pinako shuffled over to the phone and carefully bent to reach it, Edward found it impossible to ignore the fatigue he hadn't seen before. It was his fault—he was far too much trouble for an elderly woman. Something similar to remorse settled heavily in his gut, and it was immediately too difficult to watch her struggle any longer—especially since she had asked him to leave.

Knowing that he wouldn't sleep at all, Ed turned towards his bed.

**XxX**

"I'm sorry about that," Pinako began as soon as she picked up the phone. It had been such a battle to do that—she wanted nothing more than to yell down the line and throw it against the wall in her frustration. Damn that boy!

"Oh, no," the caller said calmly. Pinako's frown deepened in annoyance as she detected a note of amusement in the voice she hated so much. The voice that wanted to take her grandson away. "Think nothing of it. Shall we continue?"

"I don't see what there is to continue."

Lt. Colonel Mustang paused. "We were talking about Edward's future. If he should choose to pursue a career in the military, I am sure that he would be more than welcome."

"I've heard this before, Lieutenant Colonel," Pinako said, allowing an edge to creep into her voice. "And you've already heard my answer. I will not allow a twelve year old boy to go to war."

"There is no guarantee that Edward would be sent to war," Mustang replied sharply. "I can say with almost absolute certainty that he  _will not_  be sent anywhere near the frontlines, should a conflict arise."

"Then surely there is no need for him to join." Pinako eased her weary body into the armchair by the fire, listening to the crackle of flames to calm herself. "Having a soldier who is unable to fight will be nothing but a liability to your team. I cannot believe that you have children of your own, Lieutenant Colonel, or you would know how much work they can be. Will you have a child parading through the streets of Central—alone?"

"With all respect, Mrs Rockbell, this is not your decision. It's up to Edward to—"

"It  _is_  my decision!" Pinako exploded, leaping up from the chair in which she had only just become comfortable. "Edward has been my responsibility since his mother died, and he will continue to be so until he reaches adulthood! If you insist on bothering us with your idiotic ideas, I'll be forced to take up this matter with your superior, Mustang!"

There was a long bout of quiet. Pinako could hear the Lt. Colonel taking deep, steady, relaxing breaths, as if he were trying his hardest to stay civil. This mental image brought a cynical smile to her face; a vile satisfaction made her stand just a little taller. Just breaking such a composed man out of his composure filled her with pleasure. But his next question had her aged knees going weak.

"How will you tell Edward that you won't let him join?" the man asked, infuriatingly logical. "I'm not offering this purely for my own means, Mrs Rockbell. I need a strong alchemist on my team, and he needs the means to return his brother to his rightful state."

Pinako sat again and rubbed a palm over her forehead, withholding a large sigh. "Lieutenant Colonel," she began, trying to his her uncertainty. "In the hour and twenty minutes you spent intruding in my house, did you ever once see a walking suit of armour?"

Mustang remained silent, allowing Pinako to plead her next case.

"Edward… isn't healthy, Lieutenant Colonel. And I'm not talking about the automail surgery. Perhaps, if you one day return, I'll lead you to the spot where Alphonse is buried. Or I'll show you the suit of armour that Ed claims follows him around." She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose to alleviate the pressure building in her head. "It hasn't moved one inch in over a decade—and it has  _never_  moved on its own."

"So what you're saying," Mustang persisted, seemingly oblivious to his listener's open hostility, "Is that Edward should be… tested, to see if this is no more than a stubborn imaginary friend? Haven't you contacted any doctors?"

"Two so far." Her mouth settled in a thin, displeased line. "My granddaughter and I decided that method was doing more harm than good. I refuse to welcome another damn doctor in my home—even a bloody soldier would be preferable!"

"Then we appear to be at a standstill," the Lt. Colonel said with that previous, irritating amusement all too prominent. "Unless you would like to hear my proposition?"

Suddenly wary—and with good reason—the elderly woman directed her gaze at the fire crackling merrily behind its shield of perforated metal. An elegant floral pattern chased the edges, blacked by tongues of flame over the years. Staring at it brought back memories of working in her parents' shop, even before she was certain to carry on the Rockbell name. Back then, she had been content making art out of scraps. Now, she was trying to make a boy out of jagged pieces.

"I'll listen to it," Pinako yielded. Already she was thinking through a definite, clear refusal. One that Mustang would be sure to remember.

A slight chuckle filtered through the rough line. That bastard—was he laughing at her? Yet he sounded nothing but polite when he offered his suggestion.

"I will send one of my men."

Pinako waited a beat, to ascertain whether he was joking, and then she let out a loud laugh. Had Winry been in the room, she would have no doubt been staring up at her grandmother with wide, alarmed blue eyes. That girl was always so concerned, ever since her orphaning.

"I'm serious!" Mustang exclaimed as if he'd never once been laughed at.

"Oh, I'm sure you are!" Pinako assured him. "And that is what makes your idea so idiotic! Are you honestly so desperate?"

Without missing a breath, Mustang replied, "Yes."

"Then I worry about the state of our military."

" _Again_ ," he stressed, and Pinako fancied she could hear his teeth grind together, "This isn't just for me. I'll send someone who I feel is qualified, and he will give us  _both_  reports on Edward's mental health."

"How can a  _soldier_  judge a little boy's mental health?" she asked in mild offence.

"Is that a yes or a no, Mrs Rockbell?"


	2. Waver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There really isn't much information on Havoc, so him being a Warrant Officer is just a guess. If anyone knows his real rank at this time, please let me know :)
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**_CHAPTER TWO • Waver_ **

Warrant Officer Jean Havoc jolted awake when the train lurched to a stop with the screeching of mistreated brakes. Blinking wearily, he stared at the tiny station outside his window, desperately trying to remember what he was doing on a train in the first place. It was to do with work, of that much he was sure. The Lieutenant Colonel had caught Jean as soon as he walked into the office; Jean knew from the moment he saw his superior officer's over-enthusiastic grin that he wouldn't like his next mission.

That's right. He was on a mission.

Quickly, before he forgot again, Havoc dug through his coat for his packet of cigarettes. There were two notes jotted on the side, beneath the inscription that declared his chosen brand to be, 'The best of the best!':

_Edward Elric,_  and  _Risembool_.

He was in Risembool. That was the first step—second if one counted boarding the train back in East City. Next, he would have to find the Rockbell household, and see if the entire situation really was as strange as Mustang claimed.

Oh, it had been far too long since Havoc had been to the country. Several months, he guessed. It felt much longer. The city was incredible, imposing, with its tall, dark buildings and paved roads, but it lacked that simple  _purity_  that Jean had spent his entire childhood surrounded by. As he stepped onto the platform, he marvelled at the perfect azure of the sky, and wished that he some way of preserving that colour long enough to fix the skies of East City. He wished that the people of the city—all of the military men and women, the café owners, the street performers—would place flowers in  _their_  windowsills, as the few inhabitants of Risembool had done. He wished that there was more of the country in the suburbs.

But, he decided wryly as he approached the large map on the shelter's wall, he didn't miss the inconvenience of so many farms in one place. It seemed, as he traced his finger over the protective glass, that the Rockbell home was ridiculously far from the station. Mustang must have known this when he sent Havoc, and yet the bastard never warned him to pack light. His suitcase was going to be a nuisance—it was certain.

Jean grimaced and turned away; no amount of inspection would shorten the distance to his destination. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't change that. The station was almost empty when he finally started the long trek to Rockbell Automail. At the very least, he wanted to get there before nightfall.

It was already midday.

**XxX**

Ten more minutes, Havoc promised himself. Ten more minutes and he'd turn back. He would return to the station an hour or so after sunset, and ask someone for directions the next morning. With his luck, it was dishearteningly likely that he had missed the turn-off several kilometres ago, when the sun was higher in the sky and his luggage didn't weigh a  _tonne_.

Grumbling as he stumbled over yet another misplaced rock, the disgruntled soldier fished around the inside of his jacket for his second box of cigarettes. The first one was already finished; he would be in trouble if the assignment continued for too long.

No. He shook his head to clear it of the excess negativity. It was just a simple mission: find the candidate, and convince him to go. It wouldn't be difficult. It  _couldn't_  be difficult.

Yet he let out a heavy sigh nonetheless.

It was at that point that he lifted his gaze from the uneven road, running it through the lush grass, tracing the gnarled trees… settling on the old woman and the cemetery she guarded. For a moment, Havoc's steps faltered, and he had to consciously remind himself to  _lift_  his foot and bring it back down.

As he came closer, her head tilted upwards and she folded her arms. Disapproval seemed to  _bleed_  from her stiff posture, her tight mouth, her creased brow.

"Mustang's friend," she stated as he approached. "I presume."

Havoc gave a small laugh and fought against rubbing the back of his neck—a nervous tick he just couldn't drop. "That's me, ma'am. Warrant Officer Jean Havoc."

"Well, Warrant Officer—" her expression soured even more as she said his title, "—here, you will be going as Jean, d'you hear? If you really  _must_  stay, there will be no talk of the military." She waited for his nod of agreement before offering her hand. "Pinako Rockbell. I'm Edward's guardian."

"Guardian?"

"Edward's only twelve." Pinako's face softened into something that resembled smugness as she said, "Your superior didn't mention that, did he? You're here to brainwash a child, Jean Havoc." Her mouth twitched upwards, but there was nothing friendly in the gesture. "Now follow me, and you'll get to meet him. I wish you luck; he doesn't take too kindly to strangers."

**XxX**

It felt as if the day would never end.

The journey from the cemetery to Rockbell Automail wasn't long in terms of distance—but that entire distance was covered in silence. Whenever a question breached Havoc's mind, he would open his mouth to ask, then immediately close it upon further consideration. The Lt. Colonel had advised him to go into the situation as 'unbiased as possible'. That bastard. Jean was sure that the man simply didn't wish to help. It was out of his interests, apparently.

Or… perhaps the Lt. Colonel was as clueless as his subordinate.

"This is it," Pinako broke the quiet just as the sun tentatively stroked the horizon. "Rockbell Automail."

Havoc quickly inspected the double storey house in the fading light, tossing his guide a nervous grin. It was at the end of a wide path, bordered on one side by a stone wall. The lights were on in the lower half of the home, but the upper remained dark beyond its sturdy balcony. As he watched, a young boy threw open the front door, chattering happily and punctuating his exclamations with wild gestures.

"That's Edward," Pinako said, then urged Havoc forward with her cane. "And his younger brother, Alphonse."

"But…" Havoc squinted at the child, worrying that his eyesight was fading, as he could only see one boy. Perplexed, he turned to his elderly escort. She was smirking, and seemed oddly pleased.

"Good luck having him pass the mental examination, soldier."

"I get the feeling you don't want him joining us, ma'am," Havoc remarked dryly as he placed another smoke between his lips. Edward was still now, staring at the Warrant Officer and whispering harshly to empty space. An unknown sensation numbed Havoc's fingers so that he fumbled with the lighter.

"I don't," she stated simply. "I thought I'd made that clear earlier. But…" Jean didn't dare glance over as her voice softened into something unrecognisable. "If there's any way to help him, we'll do it."

Jean found that he could do no more than offer a nod; anything he might have said had to be silenced as the boy came into earshot, barrelling down the path to his grandmother's side.

"Granny?" he questioned, inflicting Havoc with large, wary golden eyes. His tiny fist wound itself deep in Pinako's stained apron, almost as if he thought he could offer her protection. "Who's this? I don't want another doctor."

Pinako shook her head and gently rubbed at a dirty mark on Edward's forehead. "He's not a doctor, Edward. We promised no more doctors, didn't we? This is Jean Havoc, a friend of the family. You'll be polite to him, understand?"

Edward huffed and pressed himself further into her shoulder, allowing his penetrating gaze to leave Havoc for a relief-filled second. Then he snorted, " _You_  can, Al."

" _Ed_."

"Fine, Granny!" he griped, leaving her side as quickly as he had joined it. "I'll be polite." Seemingly reluctant, he held out his left hand for Havoc to shake. But instead of introducing himself—as Jean may have expected—the unpredictable child blurted out, "Al wants me to tell you that smoking will make all your fingers and toes drop off."

Pinako just gave a quiet growl before grasping her grandson by his upper arm and tugging him towards the house, abandoning a startled Havoc without a second thought. As the soldier once again picked up his luggage, he smiled at the conversation occurring up ahead.

"But he didn't  _answer_ , Granny!" Edward was whining. "What if he doesn't  _know_? He—he could lose  _all_  his fingers and toes, Granny! … Exactly, Al! See, Granny? At least  _Al_  is worried about the guest!"

But the guest wasn't worried at all. Not about the smoking—no, that was only the equivalent of a sub-heading in his mental report. The real title was much less threatening. It was almost comforting in its normality; Mustang had been wrong to send him so far in order to gather such benign information. In his first letter to his superior, due to be written that evening, Jean would gleefully write:

_Young boy has imaginary friend._

Yes. That summed it up quite nicely. Edward Elric had an imaginary friend—a phenomenon not uncommon in children. It wasn't detrimental to his health, and would surely vanish by the time Ed sat his State Alchemist exams. The two weeks Havoc was required to spend in Risembool would go past in a flash!

**XxX**

Dinner was a strangely silent affair.

Edward cast nervous eyes across the table, catching the uncomfortable gaze of his childhood friend before she quickly returned them to her meal. It was pasta, smothered in some type of tomato sauce, and it suddenly became incredibly interesting.

Al clanked, somewhere near the oven, and Ed froze, shooting a quick glance up at Pinako. But she didn't react. The frown that had both him and Winry cowering in their seats—and Al cowering beside the stove—didn't rise and settle on him. It rested firmly on her meal, only occasionally redirecting to their  _guest_.

Edward felt sorry for him.

The man was understandably uneasy. Though Winry had piled his plate high, Havoc had barely touched it. Ed watched him out of his peripheral vision, but soon lost interest; all he did was move the pasta around, never once lifting the fork. That was a shame—Winry's food was really good, in Edward's opinion. And if he said it, she made more, so he made sure to say it often.

"How…" Ed's head shot up in surprise when Winry dared to speak, shaking his head in warning. "How long are you staying here… Mr Havoc?"

Edward stilled when Pinako sent him a sharp glare, a message to stop moving  _instantly_. He did, immediately returning his attention to the pasta on his plate. Even though it had sat before him for almost half an hour, it was the warmest thing in that room.

Jean cleared his throat before offering Winry a small, uncomfortable smile. "I, um… Two weeks."

"Then where are you going?" Winry asked, dutifully ignoring both Pinako's admonishment and Ed's incredulity.

Havoc let out a slight chuckle and pushed his food around a bit more. "I dunno."

"You don't know?"

"Winry, that's enough," Pinako warned quietly. "Why don't you clear the plates?"

Winry fixed her grandmother with a confused blue stare. "But nobody's finished!"

"I don't think anyone's hungry, dear." The old woman slid her plate across the table. "Edward will help you clean up."

For once, Ed didn't argue. If Granny wanted them to wash the dishes, it meant she had  _something_ to say to their visitor. More importantly, it meant she was leaving, and that awful, heavy atmosphere would leave with her. Suddenly, Edward couldn't collect the plates fast enough.

Al's joints screeched as he clambered to his feet, having to stoop slightly to avoid the ceiling light. Edward weaved around him and ducked beneath his brother's metal elbow. Already, Winry had the tap turned to full, sending the old pipes into a panic and filling the kitchen with their howls.

" _Winry_ ," Ed gently shouldered her out of the way in order to place his unfinished meal beside the sink. A bottle of neglected dishwashing detergent sat beside their small window, partially stuck to the bench. "You forgot the soap  _again_ , bubble-head."

The young girl's mouth gaped open in shock at the insult, then her face screwed up and a pink tongue stretched dangerously close to Ed's nose. "I'm  _not_  a bubble-head, stupid!"

Edward ignored her jab at his intelligence, resolving instead to offer a tiny chuckle. It was sure to aggravate her. "I bet your head is even more emptier than  _Al's_."

There was a rattle behind him, and then Alphonse's annoyed, "That was uncalled-for, Brother. My head's not empty, either."

"Well…" Ed poured a good half of the detergent into the sink, delighting in the foam that resulted. With his job complete, he twisted until Al was only just visible in the corner of his eye. " _Technically_ , it is."

"Edward."

The boy in question flinched guiltily at the sound of his grandmother's voice, having believed her to be out of the room. "… Yeah, Granny?"

"Leave Winry alone and boil some water for tea," Pinako demanded with a warning in her gaze that was impossible to ignore. Ed felt his throat go dry, and he wondered if her bad mood would persist for the entire two weeks of Havoc's stay. "Mr Havoc and I will be on the top balcony, understand?"

Ed nodded mutely and hurried over to the stove.

Pinako stared at him for several long seconds; her attention raised goose bumps all over his arms. "Be careful with that water, y'hear?"

"I will."

"Good," she said with finality. Soon after, her heavy footsteps moved down the hall.

When the coast was clear, Edward frantically turned to his childhood friend. "I'll do the dishes if you take the tea up to her!"

"Nope."

"What if I do them tomorrow night, too?"

Winry shook her head, grinning in cruel victory.

"A  _week!_ " Ed tried in one last effort. When Winry once again refused, he spun to scowl at his innocent, giggling brother. "Oh,  _shut up_ , Al!"

"You'd better hurry up," Winry sang teasingly. "Or she's gonna be  _mad_."

"She's already mad," Edward grumbled as he nudged her aside to fill their orange kettle. Winry let out one more giggle before falling silent, soapy water embracing her elbows and slopping down the front of her dress. She paid the mess no mind, even as it dripped onto the floor and spread in a small puddle. Edward stared at it once he'd successfully placed the kettle over the flame to boil, one eyebrow raised in question of how long it would take his companion to realise her socks were getting wet.

Winry glanced up to see him staring, and immediately grew a scowl. "Have you got the tealeaves yet?"

"Oh." Ed broke out of his stupor in an instant and rushed over to the cupboard. The tealeaves were kept in the back—out of his reach until the last month—so he took great pride in grabbing the ceramic pot himself. Now Al couldn't laugh at him.

Winry snorted at his proud expression. A trail of bubbles glistened below her eye; it was a wonder Pinako let her do the dishes on her own. Everything around her seemed to be soaked, or extremely lucky. Even the drying towels were dripping.

By the time he had set out two matching mugs, the kettle was whistling furiously. Steam poured out the spout in an angry white line, distorting when Edward lifted it off the heat. It was at times like this that the boy was thankful for his automail; he didn't need to worry about the temperature of the metal handle, because he couldn't feel it.

Setting the kettle down on a cool element, Ed pried the lid off of the pot and started coughing at the pungent smell of the tea. He'd never liked it. "Winry," he said in a bit of a whine. "Are you  _sure_  we can't swap?"

"I'm not swapping."

"But…" As the tealeaves soaked in the cooling water, Ed scrambled for any excuse to stay downstairs. "But my automail's all shaky, Win. I'll drop the tea."

Edward saw her roll her eyes in her reflection in the window. "My automail doesn't get shaky, Ed." She turned to send him a quick glare. "Stop being such a baby."

It was too late. The tea was ready, regardless of Ed's own trepidation. "I don't wanna, Winry!" he groaned, but placed the mugs on a tray anyway.

**XxX**

"I'm sure you've noticed all of his injuries," Pinako said bluntly, after spending more than two minutes in complete silence. Havoc had grown accustomed to the sound of his own breathing and that of the last birds falling asleep, but there was no way that he would admit to being startled by an old woman the size of a pea.

"I have."

"Good. I'd be worried about the future of our military if they weren't able to see a black eye on a twelve-year-old boy. That sort of thing isn't normal—especially not here. Before you ask, Mr Havoc," Pinako held up a hand to cut him off, "Let me assure you that Winry and I have nothing to do with it. We're not sure how they appear."

Havoc stared at the lush fields, turned a deep blue in the twilight. It had been a long time since such a view had greeted him. "Have you asked Edward?"

"Of course," she replied with disdain. "That was the first thing we tried."

"Then what did he say?"

"He said it was his brother."

Jean cocked an eyebrow and began rooting around his jacket for a cigarette. He needed one. "There isn't a third brother that they forgot to put on his file, is there?"

"No," she responded flatly, also bringing her pipe up to her mouth for a deep breath. "And I must say I'm a little…  _perturbed_  that you have a file about my grandson. All going well, he won't ever set foot in a military compound. To have a file at  _twelve_  seems a bit…"

"Necessary," Havoc insisted. "Even if Edward won't be accepted into the military after all this, he's obviously done  _something_  to earn the Lieutenant Colonel's interest."

Pinako huffed out a small laugh—one lacking in humour and blessed in bitterness. But she didn't speak.

Havoc let the smoke out of his lungs in a long, controlled motion, before casting a sidewards glance at his smoking partner. "You wouldn't be able to tell me what Edward did, would you?"

"No," Pinako spoke sharply, with no hint of uncertainty. "That's out of the question. If you really wanna know, ask the boy yourself. I'm not here to make your job easier, soldier."

Jean laughed slightly. "That's a shame, ma'am."

"Just behave yourself," she commanded as heavy footsteps—one metal and one flesh—tried their best to quieten on approach. Havoc fancied he saw a tiny smile on her wrinkled lips, perhaps born from her grandson's futile efforts. "You can come out, Edward."

The boy stepped out almost hesitantly, the two plain mugs on his tray rattling alarmingly. And the Lt. Colonel wanted  _this kid_  on his team? He could barely stand up to his grandmother!

But as Edward looked up, meeting his eyes boldly, Jean felt a smile of his own tug on his lips. The child wasn't hesitant; he wasn't scared in the least. There shone a bright curiosity on Ed's face, carefully masked against the stranger who was invading his home, and yet simultaneously fixated on him. Edward wore his thoughts on his sleeve; they were easy to see.

"Edward?" The old woman quickly crossed the balcony to take the tray and place it on the ground beside her. "Why are you shaking? Do you feel cold?"

"No, Granny. I'm not sick."

"Are you lying to me, Ed?"

"No."

"But you were shaki…"

As Pinako's voice faded into what could only be considered dumbfounded silence, Havoc crept up behind her to see whatever was so interesting it halted such an intelligent woman in her tracks. Everything appeared fine. There was no flush on Ed's cheeks, his posture was straight as a ruler, and even that strange antenna atop his head was sound. Even if a fever was just starting, there would be  _some_  sign.

"Is there—" Jean began, only to be cut off by a frustrated growl.

"Edward." Pinako ground out through gritted teeth. "What the  _hell_  happened to your hand?"

The child gaped up at her with wide, unblinking eyes. "Granny, did you just say—"

"No questions, Edward!" she barked. "Not until you tell me what happened! Why's it burnt?"

"… Are you okay, Granny?"

"Of course I'm bloody well okay! Havoc!"

The man's arm twitched violently as he suppressed a salute. "Yes?"

"Go ask Winry for the medical bag. There should be one in the kitchen, but if not tell her to use one from the surgical rooms. Quickly!"

"Granny, I—"

"Wait, no—come back, Havoc." Pinako roughly threw Edward's injured arm into Jean's grasp, and fixed him with a deadly stare. "You stay here with him. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid, understand?"

The soldier nodded, running his orders through his head. Ed grumbled below him—most probably about the strange, elevated position of his elbow. It was above his head, the hand dangling loosely, like a marionette with the strings cut. The way that he scowled at his grandmother's retreating back, yet made no move to disobey, gave Havoc a grudging respect for the grouchy woman.

Once Pinako was gone, however, that scowl shifted upwards, and Havoc found himself under the full focus of its scrutiny. Military training had nothing on this; only his experience with children allowed him to force a grin.

"So…" he tried, kneeling to look Ed in the angry, golden eye. Any military talk was off-limits, leaving him with very little to say. "You're Edward, are you?"

The boy's brows dropped further, almost meeting in the middle in his displeasure. "Just Ed."

"Alright, Ed." Jean came close to offering a handshake, but instead settled for dropping the one already in his grip. "If we're shortening names, you can call me Havoc."

"Okay."

Havoc nodded in acknowledgement of Ed's acknowledgement, before pointing at the injured palm. "Why don't you tell me what happened there, Ed?"

Ed's scowl reappeared. "Because  _nothing_  happened."

"Something obviously  _did_  happen," Jean said as he gently grabbed Ed's hand, palm up, and presented the burn to them both. "Look at that."

"What?" Edward pulled away and, after a slight pause, started to study the injury. He turned it in all angles, held it up to the light, squinted, but nevertheless seemed genuinely baffled when he next spoke. "Is there a scratch on my automail?" He frowned at it again. "I can't see a scratch."

Jean blinked, stunned. "You—"

"Granny said you did something to your hand!" Winry interrupted him accidentally. She was stepping onto the balcony, a damp towel over her shoulder and drying bubbles in her hair. A mocking smirk flickered on her young lips. "What's the problem?"

"It's  _nothing_ ," Ed yelled in exasperation, dragging his healthy fingers through his hair. "The gears are stiff—that's all, Winry!"

Jean raised an eyebrow while the girl just snorted. "Gears," she muttered. "Whatever you want, Ed. Sit down."

Ed merely crossed his arms and stuck out his lower lip. His gaze flicked up, and he appeared to be listening intently—to  _something_ —then he rolled his eyes and sighed. " _Fine_."

"Listen to Winry, Edward," Pinako snapped as she bustled through the door and pushed him into a metal seat overlooking their darkened view. Havoc retreated, staying out of their way, without going so far as to miss any of their conversation. "You know better than to do this; you're not five anymore!"

"Hot things  _burn_ , stupid."

"Winry, that's not helping. Get me the ointment."

"Granny!" Ed whined, tapping an erratic, distressed beat on the ground with his feet. "Granny, you're getting gunk in my automail!  _Stop_!" He tried—in vain—to pull away. "It's gonna be all sticky and—"

"Shut up, squirt."

There was a breath of calm—a breath in which everyone seemed to freeze—then, " _Who're you calling squirt_!?"

Havoc fancied he saw a smirk on Pinako's wizened mouth, but the next moment it was hidden. She spoke bluntly, "You, runt."

Ed's jaw worked furiously, as if he were talking but nothing would come out, and his eyes bulged out of his head. Winry merely giggled, while Jean pressed his lips together to quell his laughter. It would do him no favours if the kid hated him from the first day.

Winry passed Pinako a roll of bandages, Ed's attention switched from his previous indignation to the current unjustified predicament he was unable to escape. The boy slumped down in the seat in an attempt to fall, but Pinako's hold on his wrist never loosened. He let out a little moan, as if her touch was painful, but she simply pressed firmer on the protective padding and told Winry to, "Hold this." Edward, seeing that all of his weak endeavours would get his nowhere, resorted once more to high-pitched verbal complaints.

"I don't see why I  _need_  this, Granny," he groaned, sagging in exhaustion. "I can't  _feel_  it, and-and you of all people should know metal can't be burnt!"

Jean raised an eyebrow and leant further against the balcony rail. The cigarette in his mouth was dangerously close to being finished, but he made no attempt to take it out. Briefly, his mind focused on the tray of tea going cold on the ground by the open doorway, and he marvelled that no one had kicked it over yet. If anyone accused him of being subject to distraction, he would counter their claim with the excuse of being aware of his surroundings. There was a difference, he was sure.

The old woman, when he looked back up, was deftly wrapping gauze around Ed's injury, seemingly deaf to his protests. When the glint of an automail foot captured Havoc's notice, he realised that this was definitely not the first time Edward had received Pinako's special brand of treatment.

"There," Pinako said, her voice carefully stern, once the wound was treated. Winry knelt beside her to pack away the first aid kit—she was an expert in medical care at the age of twelve. "Now you listen to me, Edward. No getting this wet, no lifting up the edges, and  _definitely_  no taking this off. Understand?"

Edward brought his wrapped hand up to his face and tried to make a fist. The bandages—and no doubt the stiffness of the burn—allowed him as far as an inch or so, but the tips of his fingers were not able to curl into his palm. He groaned and threw his head back. "It's  _useless_  now, Granny. What's the point of a new hand if I can't even  _move it_?"

Edward continued to grumble for as long as it took Pinako to usher him into his bedroom and shut the door behind him. At that point, Havoc was well onto his third cigarette, and wondering where all of his expertise with children would help in Ed's case. Though he was unwilling to pass judgment so soon, he had to question why Mustang thought letting a  _child_  onto their team was a good idea.

It didn't seem so to him.

**XxX**

_12_ _th_ _June 1911 — Day 1 at Rockbell Residence_

_Well here's my journal, sir. There really isn't much to write. I've been here for about five hours—it's nearing midnight right now—and Edward hasn't said much. His grandmother, Mrs Pinako Rockbell, is just as…_ protective _as you warned me. She met me on the road, Lt. Colonel, just to tell me the 'rules' of my stay. But I understand that isn't what you want from me, so I'll get right to the point._

_Edward is much more independent than the boy you met. He is able to walk with little difficultly, from what I've seen; the automail doesn't affect his ability to walk or run—again, as far as I can tell from my five hours of experience. Physically, he appears sound. With a few more months of recovery, I believe he would be back to full health. Mentally, however… I'm not sure, sir. I need more time._

_When I first saw Edward, he was talking to himself. I don't mean babbling, sir, he seemed quite lucid. It was more like he was talking to someone we couldn't see. Of course, my first thought was that he had an imaginary friend. That's normal, right? Edward's a bit old, but after all he went through, it's a plausible theory. I really hope that's the case, Mustang, but I'm not sure anymore. There's a large burn on Edward's palm—and he can't feel it at all. Mrs Rockbell was hesitant, but she eventually told me that Edward believes his arm to be automail, just like his leg, and that he believes he lost that arm saving his brother. His imaginary friend. I wouldn't be bothered, sir, or be bothering you with such trivial detail, yet I can't convince myself to leave this out. This may be what Mrs Rockbell meant, telling you Edward wasn't fit for duty. I really wish you had given me more information before shipping me out here, you bastard. I'm not sure I'm the right person for this job._

_Perhaps tomorrow's entry will be different. Maybe I'll have some facts tomorrow. I certainly hope so—guessing games aren't my strength, Lt. Colonel, and you know that._

_Until next time._

_P.S. Did you know that smoking causes your fingers and toes to fall off? Ed told me._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm hoping to get the next few chapters written soon, but I can't make any promises.


End file.
